


A Messy Sham 2: Electric Boogaloo

by orphan_account



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Don't Starve Together, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, No tags for the element of surprise, Not Canon Compliant, The Author Regrets Everything, Webber - Freeform, Weird Constant is being Weird, Wes - Freeform, WilSon - Freeform, apparently i cant hold another mans hand without getting arrested but ok, expect grammar mistakes, i suck at being compliant, its the booming 1900s(?), story takes place after don't starve, sue me, that and i dont know what im gonna write, yeah thats a thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 02:10:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16777549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Could've done more productive things but I did this. I'm very proud of myself.This is an impulsive idea that will probably never be finished.





	1. Author thinks he's funny but he's not: The First Episode

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. This has no story. Or does it?  
> Only time will tell.
> 
> Characters: Wilson, 'Doideas. 
> 
> NOTE : 'Doideas are some random mob I made up. They feed off of survivor bases, they're stupid ticks, they're incestual, and ready to fucking curse you. They only bother you in tents.

The rain poured on his feeble tent —plip, plop, plip, plop —and Wilson couldn't stand the sound.The water from above dripped onto his forehead and bothered him endlessly. Sleepless nights before spring were almost expected but this, this was a whole other torture.

"Oh, for chrissake..." He tussled and turned on his straw bed, crushing a few 'Doidea towns who'd made their home beneath his warm body. Wilson had unknowingly killed millions of tick women and children. He groaned and propped his leg up, staring up at the tent's leaky openings and laying his hands under his head. It was a horrible night, but unbeknownst to him, the ticks had it worse. A tick with a mighty nice top hat scuttered onto Wilson in a desperate attempt to stop him. His beloved town had been destroyed, his many incestual children with it. Wilson scrunched his nose at the tickling and immediately looked at his elbow to find the Tick Mayor angrily plucking his hairs.

"You — you barbaric man!" The little bug sputtered. "Do you have no shame, you? You won't get away with this! I swear on Tickthulu, I curse thee with thoughts of homosexuality — —" Wilson couldn't hear a thing and prompted to smack the bug with a loud slap. "Eugh..." Purple blood trickled down his hand and onto the straw bed but that was the least of his worries.

_Wes had feelings for him and he didn't(?)_  


A little birdie learned from another birdie who received this from yet another birdie who got this information from his sister that Wes confessed to liking him. It was a rumor, he assumed at first. What are the chances that they were even credible? Willow, his sister, lied all the goddamn time so what makes this any different? Wes. That's what. 

Wes actually approached him, looked him in the eye rather shakily, and smiled. He was offering him something. In his hand, a hastily scribbled note in horrible chicken scratch only a mother could love — his other hand was pressed against his chest and moved like the tattoo of a heart. He was... blushing. The goddamn man was blushing and all Wilson could do was choke on his own phlegm, and he ran, and he left Wes there, and he left Wes there standing, and —you know, maybe that's enough sleeping for tonight. It was still dusk by the time he crawled out his tent and snatched WX's luxury axe. Shithead didn't use it anyways. 

Don't get him wrong; Wilson loves sleeping but right now, working seems better than facing his— gasp— gay thoughts.


	2. Author thinks he's funny but he's not: The Second Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Webber, Wilson.
> 
> Bro, always expect Wilson. I think. I doubt I'll change it up.

Wilson always found peace at the edge of the island. No one would care to find him here, but sometimes he wished Wes had after their ...incident.

He subconsciously spent longer time lingering around the mime's tent and hoped to see him again but to no avail had they made contact in days.

Wilson also had the idea that no one noticed because life at the base hadn't changed a bit. Things had gone freely without him because there was a lack of difference: no grieving, no intent to make Wilson talk to the idiot, no worry of where Wes was. Not to mention, speaking to the others was a huge pain. Any mention of Wes was responded with a 'Huh?' or 'Bug off, loser. I'm trying to keep the fire alive.' Fucking asshole. 'Say, do me a big favor and get me more twigs or something.' Fuck off. 

He did as he was told but in those moments of silence when he was far away from the base, he amused the idea that something was very, very wrong here. It was as if Wes disappeared from everyone's mind and Wilson couldn't help but worry. 

It was until the noon of the next rainless spring day that Wes's disappearance was confirmed. Wilson was near done with chopping a birch tree when Webber tugged on his sleeve. "Mister Wilson, do you miss Wes?" As if repulsed by the question, the gold axehead snapped off like a brittle chip and landed on the soggy grass with a thump. 

"Swore that damned axe would last longer." Exhausted and done with his chopping, he got on his knees to retrieve his backpack and stack his logs. "But uh... I don't know what you mean by that, son," Wilson mumbled and gave the kid the cold shoulder. Webber chittered his fangs together before looking down to the ground. Kids, Wilson noted, were too oblivious to know when they were being ignored. "I — I — I mean... you and Mr. Wes were friends, right? Before that happened?" Wilson threw on his 200 million kilo-fucking-gram of a rucksack and cringed at the question. He was over his little incident with Wes. Wes was only being affected by the solitude of the island; they both were and it meant nothing, Wilson convinced himself. "We were. No —" Wilson shook his head and corrected himself. "We still are." He began to walk off towards the base.

"But Wes left base," Webber frowned and fiddled with the axe in his hand. "He didn't come back so we thought you were mad at each other."

He stumbled on his next step and tensed. "Wait, what?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I know where this is going but not really. I enjoy lying to myself.


End file.
